


Funeral Flowers

by schmulte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, One Shot, This Is Sad, like really sad, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmulte/pseuds/schmulte
Summary: Remus Lupin expects to mourn his best friends by himself. He does not expect to get a visitor.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 19





	Funeral Flowers

Remus lives his life in funerals. They are his only measurement of time, now; his calendar is no longer filled with birthdays in pink quill ink, reminders from Sirius, little drawings Harry did in crayons. Now it's date after date of names, only names, in black ink, in Remus's dreadful scrawl. The McKinnon family. Dorcas Meadows. Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, the Prewett brothers. James and Lily. Three days from now, Peter Pettigrew. There won't even be a coffin for poor Peter- just a box containing a single finger. 

It rains, the day of their funeral, James and Lily. The weather is appropriate, Remus thinks, for the sadness their deaths bring. Under any other circumstance, Remus would prefer sunshine; he knows Lily would have wanted that. But it doesn't fit. Not when the entire world has been celebrating since their death. They deserve a day for mourning.

It's slow, and dull, and little Neville Longbottom cries the entire time, and it makes Remus's chest ache, because he sounds so much like Harry; sweet baby Harry, whose own flesh and blood refused to come to the funeral. Neville's crying is the only thing Remus seems to hear- everything else is muddled in his ears, the words all mix together. Heroes. Sacrifices. Bravery. True Gryffindors. The words are pretty, but they mean nothing to Remus. He'd trade all the Gryffindors in the world just to see James's smile again, to hear Lily's laugh. 

It's a large turnout, at least. Why shouldn't it be. Witches and Wizards from all corners of the world have come to pay their respects, and they shake hands and swap supposed treasured memories of the Potters. Remus recognizes none of them. They leave piles and piles of flowers at their grave, and Remus does not know their names. He watches and watches as pile upon pile of canary yellow and rose red and violet are covering cold November ground. 

Once, and only once, does he think he catches a glimpse of dark hair and gray eyes. Once, does he see out of the corner of his eye a large black dog, circling the perimeter of the cemetery. But the thought is gone as soon as it comes; Sirius is in Azkaban. He is in prison, on an island, surrounded by soul-sucking monsters. And even if he could escape, he wouldn't dare show his face in Godrick's Hollow. Not today, of all days. 

He's soaked to the bone by the time he gets back to his flat. His shabby trench coat has done nothing to block out the chill, and water pools in his secondhand wool socks. He lights a fire in the fireplace and strips off the wet coat, hangs it up on the rack as he looks out at the bare flat. He'd wanted to leave, but the lease is paid and frankly he can't afford to move. But he couldn't keep Sirius's things around. Every record they'd danced to in the kitchen, every stupid leather jacket and guitar he couldn't play, the sight alone would send memories flooding back, and Remus would find himself hunched over the toilet and losing what little food he ate. He'd given some of it away, others shoved in the storage unit Sirius had insisted on keeping.

The only thing left of Sirius is a beat-up old copy _Flowers for Algernon_ on the coffee table, faded and dog-eared pages, more quill ink than paper at this point. He had insisted on reading it and bet Remus ten galleons he wouldn't cry at the end like Lily had. He lost. 

After the book was read and cried over, it became their method of communication. Their relationship wasn't secret for long, not with James around to sniff them out. But they needed something of their own, a private thing for just the two of them, not privy to endless speculation by their friends. Not that Remus had minded much; he'd give anything to have James peeking over his shoulder now and snatch the note Sirius had written him out of his hand. 

They spent the entirety of seventh year passing the book back and forth, writing love notes and secret messages in the margins. Drawings, inside jokes, reminders, love poems- anything that crossed either boy's mind would be scribbled on the yellowed pages and passed. It was the one thing Remus let himself keep; the one reminder he could stand to have, to remind himself when he was cold and lonely in a too-large bed that he had love, once, before everything went bad. 

He doesn't notice the creak of the door. Doesn't notice the footsteps that fall, four turning to two, until the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up and he's reaching for his wand. But suddenly he's whirling around and pointing his wand in the face of the intruder; an intruder with gray eyes, a little hollowed now maybe, but the same one's he's been looking into since he was eleven.

"Remus--" Sirius says, holding up his hands. Like that does anything to help. Like Remus doesn't know he's a cold blooded murderer, one who's apparently escaped from Azkaban, of all places. The sadness from the funeral is gone, replaced by white hot rage; it burns in his ears like steam.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" is what he manages to say. But he doesn't let Sirius answer, speaking again before the other man can even open his mouth. "How are you here? How did you get past the dementors?"

A hint of the familiar mischievous smile of Sirius Black, marauder, flashes on to the face of Sirius Black, murderer. It makes Remus's stomach churn. "You've forgotten there are some things the Dementors can't get to. But Defense never was your strong suit, was it?"

Remus can only surge forward, bring his wand closer to that face. That face that looks so much like the one he loved. "You have about ten seconds before I call the Aurors." 

That face changes. There's a hint of sadness behind gray eyes, and he lowers his hands. "No you won't, Moony. I know you won't."

"You don't know anything."

"I know the truth," he snaps, making Remus flinch just a little, but he holds his ground. "I know what really happened that night."

Remus could laugh. "So do I. You told Voldemort where they were." Sirius looks almost...disappointed; Remus's grip on his wand loosens by a fraction. 

"I didn't. I didn't, Remus. I wasn't their secret keeper."

"Who was, then? Hm?"

Sirius hesitates. Clears his throat. "Peter."

"Peter's dead."

"He's not! He was the secret keeper, not me, he's the one who betrayed them. You have to believe me, Moony."

"Don't call me that," he takes a deep, grounding breath. "I don't believe you. Why would Dumbledore lie?"

"I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that out- but Moon-Remus. How could you believe I'd do such a thing? How could you believe I'd betray my best friends, put Harry in danger?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've been cruel, that you've betrayed your friends' trust."

Sirius's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about? Remus--"

"Fifth year, Sirius."

"That's not fair--"

"Isn't it? If you were capable of that at fifteen, well, I can only imagine what you'd do at twenty one. James was like a brother to you, Sirius. How could you?"

"I didn't--" he sighs out through his nose, pinches the bridge. The way he does when they fight. Fought. "Remus. Where's Harry?"

"I don't know," Remus lies. "and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"He's my godson--"

"He's not your _anything_ anymore. Not after what you did."

"I didn't do it! I swear to you, Remus, I did not do this. You have to believe me." Then, Sirius does something Remus has never seen him do before. He begs. He drops to his knees and _begs_. "Please, Moony. Please, you have to believe me. I can't lose you too."

Remus doesn't know what makes him say it. Maybe it's the way Sirius is looking at him, pleading for mercy when he doesn't deserve it. Maybe it's the tears running tracks down Remus's cheeks. Maybe it's the hours he spent, alone, raging and sobbing because the _love of his life_ betrayed everything he held dear. But he can't hold back anymore, and he opens his mouth and says in an unwavering voice,

"Even if I did believe you. It's still your fault."

Sirius's face drops. He stands up so fast he almost falls, reaches out to Remus even when he flinches away. "Remus--what--"

"It's still your fault. You're the one who told James and Lily to change their secret keeper to Peter. You're still the reason they're dead."

"Remus--"

"You're the reason Harry doesn't have parents." That seems to shut Sirius up, another first. Sirius Black has never been this silent. The only sound in the apartment is the crackle of the fireplace and the blood in Remus's ears. "Now get out. Before I kill you myself."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Oh yeah?" Remus scoffs. "Why not?"

Sirius's eyes, soft and gray and perfect, look sadly from the coffee table to Remus. "Because you kept the book."

If possible, Remus's gut fills with more anger than he's ever felt in his life. Hot tears come dripping down, and the roar of blood in his ears intensifies. In one fell swoop, he picks the old book off the table and throws it at Sirius. The other man fumbles but catches it, staring at Remus, mouth agape. _Close your mouth, Padfoot,_ James would say. _You'll catch flies that way._

"Take it," Remus hisses. "Take your fucking book and go." Sirius swallows, sighs, reaches into his pocket. He produces a single key, rusted and black, and places it on the coffee table. Remus narrows his eyes as if it might jump to life and attack him. "What the fuck is that?"

"My Gringott's key. It's all in your name now; Dumbledore at least granted me that."

"I don't want your fucking charity."

"It's not charity, Remus. I want you to be taken care of. I want...I love you, Remus. You know that."

Oh. Oh, this, this is what pure rage feels like. The anger he felt a moment ago seems minuscule compared to this. Seeing red, before he can stop it, Remus's free hand comes down to slap Sirius across the face, hard. The other man barely flinches; an after-affect of his upbringing, Remus supposes. At one point the thought of that would make him sad. But not now. 

"How dare you say that to me. How dare you, how--" he struggles to catch his breath. "Get out. Get out, get out, get out!"

He doesn't know how many more things he throws before Sirius leaves. But eventually, he realizes he's alone, with nothing but shattered glass at his feet and his wand still gripped tight in his right hand. Sirius does not come back. 

Twelve years later, the door to Remus's flat is creaking again, and four footsteps change to two, but Remus does not draw his wand. He stays where he is, curled on his couch, drowning in a much too large jumper. Sirius smiles, the crows feet around his eyes crinkling, but the gray is the same. He kneels down in front of the threadbare couch and presses a tentative hand to Remus's cheek. It feels much too thin and cold against his flesh. Remus's heart aches. 

"Why did you go back?" Remus asks after a long pause. Sirius's thumb idly brushes a tear away, and his smile is soft and sad and loving.

"Because you were right. It was my fault."

"No. No, Sirius--"

"I told Lily and James to make Peter their secret keeper. I was suspicious of you when the real traitor was right under my nose. I should have known."

"No one knew, Sirius. There's no possible way..."

Sirius moves his hand to take Remus's, brings it to his lips. "I've let so many people down in my life, Remus. Regulus, Lily and James, Peter. And you. You most of all. I couldn't live with myself with you hating me...so I went back."

"I'm sorry," Remus's voice is thick with tears, and Sirius presses another kiss to his hand. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have believed you."

"I don't blame you, love."

They sit in a comfortable silence again, touching by the palms of their hands, honey eyes meeting steel. 

"Where will you go? Now that you're free?"

Sirius sighs. "I know what you want me to say. But I won't stay here, Remus, not until things have calmed down. I couldn't put you in danger like that."

"So you'll take Buckbeak and fly to Transylvania, then?" It draws a watery laugh out of Sirius. 

"Too many vampires. Amsterdam, perhaps."

"Just stay away from the red light district." Another silence. Remus swallows over the lump in his throat, musters up his courage, straightens his back. "Sirius, I--"

"I know," he interrupts, pressing another kiss to a scarred knuckle. "I love you too." 

Then, Sirius is reaching into his pocket, and pressing something into Remus's hands, a fleeting kiss to his lips, and he is gone. Remus looks down at his occupied hand and smiles at the brand new copy of _Flowers for Algernon._ Inside, in Sirius Black's perfect, aristocratic handwriting, is a note written on the first page. A promise of a next time. Of new traditions. Of a fresh start. 

" _There is no question about it now. I am in love."_

_You'd better have written me a bloody sonnet by the time I get back._

_Sirius_

_Sirius_


End file.
